The crowd grows crazier than before. The rain is hitting the floor and you can feel the vibration of stomping feet. The energy of the crowd has swarmed and collected and is harnessed toward the stage. You are certain the performers can feel this focused beam of energy too because they’re singing louder and no longer look at all confused, but the opposite: they have intention. Everyone is singing now about the power to dream, to rule, to wrestle the earth from fools. You know this is the reason many people come to concerts, come to witness anything live. There exists the possibility of surprise, of power outages, of connection and communion, the possibility of people who have never before met singing the same song to each other about the power they have to change the world.
You look to your right to see if the famous American actress is enjoying the concert as much as you are. But she’s not there. You look to your left. She’s not there. In the midst of the chaos, the famous American actress and her two bodyguards have vanished.
You are by yourself for the remainder of the show. The women in front of you who recognized the famous American actress now turn to look at you with disapproving, judgmental eyes, as though you’re the one who drove her away.
When the show ends you wait for the crowd to clear out and then head toward the stage. A security guard stands before a staircase, monitoring backstage access. You explain the situation. You tell him where you were sitting. You tell him you were with the actress.
He has three conversations via walkie-talkie. Then you are patted down and allowed backstage. You are given a silver sticker that looks like a sheriff’s badge and told you must wear it on your shirt. The security person walks you to the green room, which is up a set of stairs. As you climb the stairs you hear laughter. It’s only as you get closer to the laughter that you realize the “green room” is in fact the changing area for jockeys.
Approximately fifteen people are gathered around Patti Smith and her band. You did not know the backstage crowd would be so small. Plates of vegetables and hummus and cakes are arranged on a table. Enough food to feed sixty.
“Hello!” a man says from a distance, and as he approaches he frowns. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” He puts on his glasses as though to explain his mistake.
“It’s okay,” you say. “I’m with her. I mean, I was with her, but she had to leave.”
“Great,” the man says, removing his glasses. He seems relieved to not have to wear them. “Have you met Patti?”
The man who hasn’t yet introduced himself to you introduces you to Patti Smith. You shake her hand. You watch your hand being shaken by Patti Smith. You have grown accustomed to the actress’s elaborately manicured hands; in contrast, Patti Smith’s hands with their short unpolished nails are clearly those of a serious musician.
You tell Patti Smith the actress had to leave and she tilts her head ever so slightly and says she understands, that you never know with crowds.
You are introduced to other people — men who worked with Patti in various countries, and their girlfriends, who are taller than the men and are wearing low-cut shirts. One wears a bustier with a suit jacket over it. She is bursting from it and you try not to stare. You can see that everyone is trying not to stare.
You are the first to dip into the hummus, the only one to eat the shallow glazed cake, topped with an array of orange fruit. When you feel you have stayed too long, you walk to the exit and turn and give a small wave. Everyone returns your polite wave with a more enthusiastic one. You try to interpret this as a good sign — they enjoyed meeting you — and not as a sign that they’re relieved by your departure.
The next day, shooting starts at 9 A.M. You are reeling from the night before, and wake up at 7:30, earlier than you wanted to. You decide to swim laps. The pool at the Grand is smaller than the pool at the Regency, its shape more traditional. You dive in.
You’ve swum twenty laps when you see the famous American actress approaching, flanked by her bodyguards. It’s 8 A.M. You swim underwater to the other side of the pool. When you lift your head, the three of them are standing there before you.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” the famous American actress says.
You have the feeling you’re in trouble but don’t know why.
“In private,” she says to the bodyguards. “We’ll be over there.” She points to two chaise longues out of the forty facing the pool. All are vacant.
You hoist yourself up out of the water. The two men look at you for one second too long. You grab your towel and wrap it around your waist.
The famous American actress sits at the foot of a chaise longue, and you sit down at the foot of the one next to hers.
“Look at them,” she says, staring at the bodyguards. One is three chaise longues to your left, the other four to your right. They are both looking in opposite directions, waiting, watching. There’s no one else in the pool area.
“I guess they got frightened last night,” you say. Then you add: “That was scary.”
“You consider that scary?” she says. “You don’t know how it usually is in like L.A. or London or something. Last night was tame. I think the boys just got excited because before coming here we were in the desert for a month. There was no one around us for miles and they had nothing to do.”
“It was a little weird how fast it happened,” you say, taking another towel from the chaise longue you’re sitting on and placing it on your lap like a blanket. Like an elderly lady who gets cold in her living room.
“It’s always like that. One person spots you and then suddenly you see, like, a ton of heads turning your direction and—bam—it’s time to get out of there. Anyway, how was backstage? Did you get a chance to say hi to Patti for me? Tell her I was there?”
“Yeah. I can’t believe I was talking to her. She said she understood and she was glad you came.”
“Good. Thank you for doing that. I didn’t want her to think I was a no-show.”
You tell her it was an honor to meet Patti Smith.
The famous American actress looks at you for a moment and then gives you her famous lopsided smile. “You crack me up. You use words like ‘honor’ and stuff.”
“It was an honor.”
“You’re too much,” she says.
You look at her and see her brain is already miles away, thinking. You’ve come to learn something about her that she tries to hide: her mind never rests.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asks.
“I have to work till seven or so. Which means you’re probably working later. .”
“Yeah, I work late tonight.”
She looks at the pool, as though considering diving in. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”
You shrug, but she’s not looking at you — she’s still staring at the pool — so you say, “Sure.”
“I’m wondering if you’ll go out with someone tonight. I’m supposed to meet him for dinner at eight, but I have to work, and things are complicated. .”
“Who is he?”
“It’s a long story,” she says, and sighs. “I was sort of dating this man. . he’s a little older, Russian, debonair really, except for some of the bars he took me to in Moscow. Which were really fun, by the way. Bars in Moscow are amazing. Everyone gets naked onstage. Anyway, it was casual but then he fell for me pretty hard and. .” She doesn’t finish the sentence.
“So you want me to go have dinner with him and break up with him for you?” You laugh a little laugh.
“No, no, no. . the thing is he didn’t really fall hard for me, personally. He just fell for the idea of me.”
“He fell for the idea of dating an actress?”
“Not even that,” she says, examining her pedicure. “He just fell for the idea of youth. Of a young woman listening to everything he said.”